Spencer Federal Agent OFI
by Edward George
Summary: Carl Spencer - Federal Agent for the Office of Federal Investigion has a strange one handed to him, and not exactly on a silver platter either: a UFO if you will. Spencer and his partner McQuire have to unravel the mystery of the UFO.


Part 1

Sharp blue-white light filled Joyce Hardin's bedroom washing out all darkness with the effect of a searchlight. The high pitch whine sounded like a turbine engine rush toward the old mobile home. The doppler effect of the rapid approach of the turbine engine was upon her then faded toward Red Rock Canyon. Joyce sat up in bed, her heart felt like it was in her throat. Her big male wolf, Ulysses cowed beside the bed whining at the sound that filled the night with its defining, unchanging hum. Grabbing for the robe that lay on the chair beside the bed, Joyce rushed through the mobile home to the front door, opening it in time to look out at the blue-white brilliance that briefly displaced the dark.

From across the road Joyce could hear Fred Klein yelling at the top of his lungs:

"I know my rights! You ain't goin' get me!"

The light faded momentarily with the incessant whine of the turbine as it entered the throat of the canyon a couple miles to the north. Then with renewed intensity, the blue-white light brightened again in to a near solid shaft of light. Suddenly, there was the sound of a crash and rending of metal against rock echoing out of the canyon. The brilliant light faded to a dull glow then brightened followed by the second sound of metal being torn by rock. The light disappeared followed a few seconds later by an intense explosion that rocked the shanties, doublewides, and houses along Phantom Canyon Road.

Joyce caught her breath in a startled gasp shielded her eyes as she gripped the doorframe. A second flash of intense blue light again displaced the dark momentarily stunning her. Joyce saw enough of the near-white light; the brilliant flash of light that distorted the night reminded her of a thousand old-fashioned camera flash bulbs going off at once.

"Oh, god I hope its not…"

Darkness reclaimed the night.

One by one outside lights of homes of the small neighborhood began to be turned on. She could hear her neighbors talking in frantic tones. Finally gathering her resolve, Joyce went back inside to call the Fremont County Sheriff's office to report the incident. The incident made the national news the next day. However strange and real the incident that night, local, state, and federal investigators could not locate the wreckage in or near the canyon entrance. They tried most of the next day, even borrowing two Blackhawk helicopters from Fort Carson but to no avail.

That was nearly a week ago now.

Seven levels below Spencer's office in the Holly Sugar Building lay South

Cascade Avenue. Across the street was the Phantom Canyon Brewery, a microbrewery tavern and restaurant, the local watering hole for the well heeled of Colorado Springs' financial district. The idea of a beer began to appeal to Carl Spencer as he stood with one foot resting on the low windowsill. He had the telephone cord stretched to its limit, the telephone resting dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Carl watched the traffic at the intersection of Pikes Peak Avenue and Cascade a little while longer as he listened to the "elevator music" on the telephone. He had only been on hold for the past five minutes and becoming irritated with waiting for the other party keeping him from getting any productive work done. He hated speakerphones as a nuisance. The music was cut short.

"_Sorry about that, Carl_," came a male voice back at him, cutting off the overture to some piece of classic music. "_Took a while_."

"No kidding. Where did she have to go for you, the executive rest room?" Carl snapped with unbridled annoyance.

"_Um, well_…"

"Never mind" Straightening up, Carl brushed back his thick black hair as he

regarded his reflection in the window. "Time is short here. Burger wants an explanation on those sightings near Canon City last Wednesday."

There was silence as the other considered a reply. The other finally said: "So

what does he want to hear? Maybe, somebody was playing with a luminous Frisbee at midnight, with fire crackers taped to the thing, or another swamp gas story?"

"Yeah, like the other ninety-nine he's already heard? Get with reality, Mark,

Burger wants proof. You know darn well that thing – whatever it was is scattered all over the canyon…."

_"Proof? What does he expect us to do? Bring him back a sample of the damned thing?"_ The irritated tone of Mark McGuire's voice shot back.

"The whole enchilada. Never mind I got the sample yesterday, that's on its way to Peterson Air Force Base."

"_Great, then find me a sixty-ton lowboy and sixty-ton crane. I'll go bring him proof, if that's what's got him all fired up_." There was a short muffled exchange of words with someone in the office there. Mark returned to the phone. "_And what are your plans in the meantime_?"

"Got it. Pacify Burger. What else?"

Spencer hung up the phone just before it fell to the floor with a bang and ding of the ringer. "This is going to make any thing those idiots in Hollywood or Washington may have thought of for a third encounter sound stupid. And so much for the Air Force Blue Book stories. Good bed time stories."

Placing the phone back on the desk, Carl turned just as his secretary Carolyn Peel

stepped in with the mail. "Finally get a hold of him?" she asked, tossing the mail on the

desk shoving a letter toward him that had a return address from Ohio on the envelope.

Resuming his seat in the high back black leather chair, he nodded his head.

"Something tells me, somebody back at Langley isn't playing with a full deck of cards on

this situation. And to think I gave up a twenty year career in the Army for this…"

Carolyn sat in the chair opposite him. "You mean the thing is for real?"

Carl gazed across the office, and then nodded his head. "Could be but I'll see later today. In the mean time, Mark wants a lowboy and sixty-ton crane on standby for if we find it. Where am I…?"

Holding her hand up, Carolyn said: "Don't worry, Mr. Spencer, my father works

for Cowen Heavy Hauling. I'll call Stu their project manager to schedule the equipment

for you."

Allowing a smile, he gestured for her to take care of arranging for the possible leasing the truck and trailer, and crane with crew.

Turning in his chair, Carl gazed out the window again at the roofs and skyline of the mid-town section of Colorado Springs, Colorado. It had been just a few days ago that reports of some extra-terrestrial craft may or may not have crashed, or landed somewhere south of Colorado Springs in the vicinity of Canon City. The first call was about two o'clock in the morning:

"_Carl_," came Burger's firm voice at him as Carl struggled to wake up.

"Who? What?" Carl fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp. "What the hell time…?"

"_Never mind the time. The Fremont County Sheriff's Department is going nuts _

_over some mysterious aircraft sighting near County Road 67, someplace called Phantom _

_Canyon. Or do I need remind you that's your area of responsibility_?"

"Huh? A what?" Carl asked, laying back trying to comprehend what Burger was talking about. "Aircraft? That's the FAA's problem. When did all this take place anyway?"

"_Not less than two hours ago. Never mind the FAA. You need to get started now. Time is crucial on this one. Keep me posted_."

"What's going to happen between now and later?" Spencer dared ask.

"_A lot, as you well know. Check it out anyway, Spencer. Let me know first thing what you find. Now get it done_." The line went dead with a click. Not so much as a talk to you later or good-bye.

"No problem, sir." Spencer reached over to place the receiver back on the cradle.

"A saucer maybe? Good God, now what?"

Carl lay back to stare at the ceiling a minute, then decided: "What the hell, let me get a hold of Mark."

Spencer had to listen to Mark McGuire complain about the hour of the morning and the fact he'd have to drive all the way to Colorado Springs to meet him, then another hour drive south to Canon City.

Carl finally sat up swinging his feet off the bed. "Alright, alright just the same get a move on. I'll meet you at the old IHOP at Southgate Shopping Center anyway."

"_Sure_."

Part 2

Spencer and Mark McGuire, his assistant from Denver arrived in Canon City at the Fremont County Sheriff's office. The Sheriff's Department was adjacent to the county's new justice center off US Route 50 at six o'clock the next morning. Parking his car near the front entrance Carl and Mark entered and stopped at the reception desk where an officious appearing receptionist and bored looking deputy directed people concerning official business.

Taking his credentials case from an inner jacket pocket, Carl showed them his federal identification and introduced Mark. "Office of Federal Investigation. Need to interview the deputies and anyone regarding, an – um," he could not bring himself to use the words, "unusual sighting last night near Phantom Canyon."

"Unusual sightings?" the deputy repeated, his tone scoffing at the phrase. He shifted his bored gaze from one agent to the other. "Such as?"

"Let's just leave it at that, okay?" Said Carl snapping the case closed. "Do you have access to the police blotter reports?"

"That'd be the shift supervisor," the receptionist replied. "I'll ring him."

Carl backed away from the desk to wait for the supervisor. Mark stood back letting Carl do all the talking. Mark was a medium height, stocky man, three years Spencer's junior. He brushed his hand back through thinning premature gray hair as he looked around the main entrance. Shortly a tired, irritated deputy sergeant stepped out of the back office. "Inspector Spencer?"

"And you…?" Spencer asked cautiously.

"Sergeant Garcia."

"Is there someplace we can talk?" Spencer asked looking around for an empty room. "This is my partner Special Agent McGuire."

Garcia nodded to Mark. "This way."

They followed the deputy to a side room with table and chairs. Garcia closed the

door; he turned a handle that indicated on the other side the room was occupied. "The

sighting up Phantom Canyon Road, right?"

Spencer took a seat while Mark remained standing. Nodding his head to indicate

a "yes", he waited while the deputy, who was just as tired as they were opened his note

book and spread out a copy of the blotter report from that night. Garcia said: "You missed the circus down here."

"Circus?" Mark repeated, speaking up for the first time that morning. "As in?"

"The news media." Garcia returned his attention to the notebook.

"Tell us about the sightings, Sergeant," said Carl easing back in the chair.

Garcia fumbled with a pen he was holding. Carl watched the deputy's expression of uncertainty while Mark observed the body language. It was obvious; the other was uncomfortable talking to the federal agents about a subject as uncertain as UFO's. He'd just soon talk about a drug bust, or some domestic violence incident than UFO's. The local news media from Colorado Springs and Pueblo made the State Fair look good by the complete mess they made of the sightings. The Air Force and NORAD command typically attempted to remain neutral, which was hard since it was nearly in their backyard.

"The first sighting was called in about twelve-thirty AM by a John Mills on 10335, County Road 67, Phantom Canyon Road. The next report was a few minutes later, twelve-thirty-five AM by a Joyce Hardin – 10338 same road."

"Which means something akin to mass hysteria," Mark suggested shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stared at the floor.

Carl briefly shifted his gaze to McGuire then back to the deputy. "How many reports in all?"

"Ten."

"How many people – or homes are there along County 67?" Mark quickly asked,

fixing the other with a steady gaze.

"There are about fifteen families out there."

"The other five? What were they doing during all this?" Mark asked, taking a pad of paper from a notebook to begin taking notes.

"Didn't see a thing."

"Not surprised." Mark remarked as he made some notes in a notepad.

Spencer remained quiet listening to McGuire take over the questioning. He wanted to listen to what the deputy was telling the other. Why did five out of fifteen families not notice or pay any attention to the bright light, and ten did?

He asked, in a quiet tone: "Do you have the names and addresses of the five who claimed they didn't hear a thing, deputy?"

"Um, yes." Garcia tore the page from his notebook.

Carl looked over the information while Mark continued to closely question the other on the sightings.

Carl read the police report and the deputy's hand written notes. The report was all but sterile in its language of the incident. Then, a final sentence in the deputy's notes caught Spencer's attention. He noticed it was missing from the "official" police report.

"Excuse me, Sergeant, but what is this part here about: 'the odor of something burning – like the odor of burning brakes' according to a Fred Sabin. It's in your notes, but

nothing about it in the police report?"

The deputy cleared his throat as he lowered his eyes to the table and his heavy callused hands. "The Lieutenant didn't think it was important enough to add in."

"Did you find anything – burn areas on the ground, residue of any kind – substantial evidence?"

The deputy hesitated then replied: "No."

"No fire, no smoke?" Carl asked, noting the other's hesitation.

"A couple people reported what they said may have been an explosion up the canyon beyond the old railroad tunnel."

"Evidence? Did you or any of the deputies that responded look for wreckage?"

"Deputy Ramon and Wilson went as far as the tunnel but couldn't find anything. The Army brought in two Blackhawks but neither could find anything."

"Not surprising," Mark muttered. "Has the area been examined yet by a forensics team?"

"No."

"Why am I not surprised?" Mark muttered again digging in a jacket pocket to find a pack of gum. "Beyond the questioning of residents, Sergeant, what else was done to confirm the reports?"

Garcia gestured to the reports. "There was nothing else to do."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Carl shifted his gaze back to McGuire. Looking back at the deputy, he asked: "Has FAA responded yet?"

"No. Of course, neither Colorado Springs Municipal or Pueblo Municipal reported sighting of an aircraft or calls from an aircraft."

"Radar images reported by either traffic control center?"

"Nothing as far as either center is concerned – and nothing from the Air Force at Peterson Air Field."

Mark snapped his notebook closed. "Which simply means, when you find the wreckage call us."

Spencer pursed his mouth weighing his next remark: "Where's Phantom Canyon Road from here? I want to take a look at this for myself and talk to some of the people."

"Actually you passed it coming into Canyon City on fifty," said Garcia closing his notebook.

Carl glanced at the time. It was nearly seven-thirty o'clock. There was a good chance they'd miss some of the residences leaving for work.

"Is there somebody who can take us out there?" Mark asked, stuffing the gum in his mouth. "Might as well get an eye-ball view of this – um, thing."

"I can," Garcia said, knowing he'd probably have to do it anyway. "It's eight miles east on the north side of US Fifty."

A short time later, Garcia leading in a sheriff's car, pulled up to the first resident, parking along the road. Carl and Mark noticed that the south ridgeline of the Rampart Mountains that comprised Phantom Canyon stopped abruptly three miles from US 50.

Carl and Mark looked around at the scattering of houses that paralleled either side of the road. Most of the ramshackle homes were doublewides, the yards littered with broken down trucks, cars, old trailers, some out buildings that served as livestock shelters for horses, a few cows, chickens, and goats were of composite wood and sheet metal. The yards, what there was for a lawn or yard was buffalo grass, weeds, and cactus.

They parked along the road. Carl got out and waited for Garcia to walk back to them. Carl gestured to the first house, a modified double wide that had different sections added to the main structure over the years. "Which one is this?"

"Fred Klein."

"Let's start with Fred then," said Carl, looking around at the assortment of mobile homes and double wides. Nodding his head, looking toward the mountain again, Carl turned to Mark. "Get the impression we may be dealing with the mass hysteria syndrome?"

"That's what I said before," Mark reminded Spencer. "Back where I come from

these people would be considered hillbillies."

They walked in to the driveway that was little better than a dirt area where an old

late model rusted out Ford pickup, a car, in just as bad a shape was jacked up on cinder blocks, the hood off, the front wheels missing, windshield cracked.

Mark glanced in at the engine. "Carburetor missing."

A curtain at the front window was pushed aside, then the door opened just enough for someone to peer out. "Whatcha' need, deputy?"

"Mr. Klien, these are federal agents. They want to talk to you about the – um, incident last night?"

"Didn't see nuttin'." The door slammed shut, then opened a crack again. "I know my rights – now git off ma'property!"

"Not very talkative, huh?" Mark observed. "Hmm, wonder if he's running a still?"

"They don't like people interfering in their lives out here. Don't even care for the tourists that drive down from the Victor area who like to use the road." He waved a hand toward the mountains and canyon.

"What about the other people?" Carl finally asked, indicating the other places.

As they talked a couple pickups and a jeep drove past.

"That's Joyce Hardin across the road, there," Garcia said indicating another double-wide house that was a bit neater than its neighbors, but the lawn still showed signs of needing mowing and cleaning, the driveway had weeds growing in clumps, an old 1975 Jeep Chief Cherokee was the only vehicle that appeared to be in running order. "I talked with her briefly. Not much. Said it was more noise and light than anything."

"Let's go talk to Joyce then," said Carl crossing the road to the Hardin residence.

Garcia followed them. Mark glanced back at the other house, he watched as the

curtain fell back in to place. He looked back at Joyce Hardin's to see a curtain pushed aside enough for someone to look past the faded frills.

"Suspicious bunch," he muttered to himself.

Part 3

Garcia stepped up on to the metal steps of Joyce Hardin's doublewide that rocked under his weight. He knocked once and the door opened and the sun tanned face of a middle-aged woman looked out at them from behind the weather beaten screen door.

"Yes?" Joyce asked her timid voice was quiet and reserved. "Oh, Deputy Garcia."

"Yes, ma'am," he said then gestured back to Spencer and McGuire. "If you recall I was here early this morning concerning the incident. These gentlemen are federal agents, Office of Federal Investigation they're here to investigate the incident last night."

"Oh." Joyce touched her pale lips with a quivering hand that soon softened to a slight smile. "Yes. It was quite a thing. Yes."

McGuire took the pack of gum from his jacket pocket and stuffed a fresh stick into his mouth. His eyes swept over the woman's slender figure and pretty smile with a favorable nod to himself.

Carl had his identification case in one hand and sun glasses in the other as he waited for Garcia to finish talking to Joyce. The woman looked past the deputy at the ID case. Pulling her faded gingham robe tighter about her petite figure, she brushed a lock of her faded sandy hair back from her face.

"Come in." She looked around the neighborhood to see if anyone was watching.

The deputy glanced back toward Klein's place.

Joyce waved a hand at the other place. "He's worried the government still wants

his land for something hush-hush secret. There isn't a darned thing over there anybody'd

want. Paranoid old coot!"

Slipping the sunglasses into a jacket pocket, looking back at Klein's place Carl could only wonder at the people who lived along the county road here.

Garcia stepped in to the small living room. Mark and Spencer stepped inside. Joyce went through the pleasantries as she invited the three men to sit down. Carl could not help but wonder if she lived out here by herself.

"Miss Hardin," Carl began, opening his notebook, "starting from the beginning, last night, what time did you first become aware of something – um, unusual?"

Joyce thought for a minute. "Oh, just a little before twelve-thirty I guess."

He quickly asked: "Is there anyone else who lives here, Miss Hardin?"

"Just Ulysses."

"Ulysses?"

"My pet wolf."

The three were startled when they looked back toward the short hallway to see the snout of a large male wolf lying by the hall door carefully watching them.

"Oh." Mark shifted himself closer to the door.

Spencer now understood why Joyce could live alone; a loyal pet wolf to guard her. Shifting his attention back to her, he continued to probe for answers to his questions: "And what did you see – hear: basically, what did you experience?"

He waited, hoping she wouldn't give him the line of an "out of body experience" or the other one: the missing ten minutes out of her life. Investigating extra-terrestrial

phenomenon was not his normal line of work.

"Well, the first thing I recall was waking up as I said just before twelve-thirty. The sound was like listening to the activity of a beehive. Just one long steady hum. And the light – the light was intense. It was like somebody with a group of four-by-fours with twin racks of halogen lights. But it was all in slow motion – if you will. Whatever, it passed over real slowly."

"Beside the light and sound – what else, Joyce?" Carl asked writing down her answers.

"Nothing. If you mean all the theatrics that some people attribute to a sighting – UFO, if you will, a virtual light show, wind, rain, everything but the second coming. No, there was none of that. But then there was the sound – if you will of the - or it crashing and then flash of light – other than that – really, that was it."

"How long did it last?" Mark quickly cut in.

"Oh, maybe about ten minutes. Shook everybody up. I've heard where some sightings didn't last longer than five minutes. In and out, if you will."

Carl and Mark exchanged quick questioning looks.

"Miss Hardin …"

"Joyce," she said with a smile toward Carl.

"Um, Joyce, you aren't a member of any of the UFO clubs or societies, are you?" Spencer asked, carefully watching her expression change.

Joyce laughed lightly. Her laugh was one of merriment at the question. "Oh heaven's no, Carl. If anything, I'd be considered the first to deny there is an alien race that'd have had contact with Earth at all. And if there is? So what?"

"But you do …?" Mark started to ask cautiously.

She waved her hand in a gesture to indicate "maybe but not certain." "I like to be

pragmatic about the subject."

Carl raised a brow at her answer. He continued. "A few witnesses indicated an unusual odor."

"Oh, yes. Ever smell the brakes on a truck when the driver has to lock them up in an emergency stop?"

"Right." Carl knew exactly what she was referring to at that point. "And did you observe the – things' flight path, if you will?"

"Oh yes."

"And?"

"It went up the canyon."

The three interviewed half a dozen more of the people along the road. A couple people were vague in their replies, another rambled on about the second coming, still another was just as detailed in his description of the event as Joyce Hardin. Spencer did not like what he had heard. Most of what he'd heard was little better than rubbish. Still, he knew he was forced by the situation to be objective about the incident.

As they walked back to the cars Carl considered what he'd heard from those they'd talked with.

"What'd ya think?" Mark finally asked, looking back at wall of rock that was Phantom Canyon. "Spooky looking place."

Spencer stopped at his car and tossed the notebook onto the hood. Looking back at the canyon he considered the residences along the road. He couldn't help but think of them in terms of an old story: The Ship of Fools.

"Why did two out the eight we talked with make sense and the others left more questions than answers?"

"Physiological trauma?" Mark suggested.

Spencer shrugged. He studied the mouth of the canyon. "Deputy, how far back does the canyon go?"

"West. Almost all the way to Victor. Follows the Eight Mile Creek from this point some ten miles to Victor. " Garcia began to wonder what the agent had in mind. "Why?"

"According to Joyce Hardin and a couple other people, the – thing went up the canyon just before they heard the sound of a crash, as one put it."

Mark nudged Spencer. "Speaking of who. Here she comes."

Spencer turned to see Joyce, with the wolf at her side step out the front door. She was wearing a red-checkered flannel shirt and blue jeans and western boots. In her hand she carried a woman's beige shaded western hat. Joyce waved to them and walked out to the road.

"Excuse me, Mr. Spencer…"

Carl allowed a smile for the other. "Carl – Joyce. Did you have something else to add to your information?"

"No. But I was just curious, were you thinking about going up the canyon?"

Carl glanced back at Mark, then said: "I was thinking about it, why?"

Joyce gestured to the cars. "Not with those things you won't. You'll be calling for a recovery service to pull you out of the canyon."

The men looked at the cars. Carl asked "Why?"

"My, dear, that is four-wheel drive country in there. Oh, yes, there are the few nitwit tourists who drive their fancy cars down from the casinos in Cripple Creek every so often. As a result they ruin the suspension on the cars."

Glancing back across the road at the Jeep, Carl began to get the impression the

road was a series of washboards, ruts, potholes, and rocks.

"So what do you suggest?" Mark asked, hesitantly. He wondered if she wasn't going to suggest using her Jeep.

Joyce waved the hat back at the Jeep. "A four-by-four. What else?"

"Yeah, a four-by-four—how obvious," Mark muttered to himself.

Carl nodded his head in agreement. "Um, sure, if you don't mind?"

"Nothing to it. Coming, Deputy?"

"Thank you, Miss Hardin, but I'll take the cruiser just the same."

Carl glanced back at Klein's place just as a curtain fell back in to place.

It was nearly nine o'clock by the time they entered the canyon, a mile from the end of the paved portion of the road. As Joyce followed the road into the canyon, it was like passing through the gate of a great citadel. The gravel road, little wider than a single lane street in places followed Eight Mile Creek that flowed south east from the mountains, another three thousand feet higher around Cripple Creek, Victor, and Goldfield. Eight Mile flowed south to meet the Arkansas River near Florence.

Carl rode in the front, Mark shared the back seat with the wolf. Joyce prattled on about the history of the canyon and the narrow gauge railroad that once followed the course of Eight Mile to the former gold mine towns of Victor and Cripple Creek.

"Do you have any idea how far in this thing could have gone, Joyce?" Carl

finally asked, breaking in to her monologue.

"It'd had to have been just up here," she said gesturing with a hand. "There's the first tunnel up ahead. Notice how the creek cuts around the hill mass."

Carl followed her hand gestures as she pointed out the geological differences in the rock formations. He began to wonder what kind of work she did. "Your certain it came this far back?"

Joyce slowed the jeep as she studied the peaks, crevasses, and ravines that lined the road. She pointed to the ridge just above the old tunnel. "Look – up there. I'll bet …that's what caused the crash."

Stopping the jeep, Joyce reached behind the seat to fumble around for a pair of binoculars. Getting out, she scanned the ridge that was nearly six hundred feet above their heads. In front of them was the yawning maw of the old railroad tunnel that was bored through the solid granite wall. It was only one hundred feet long coming out the other side, the road hugged the side of the embankment like this, according to Joyce for some thirty-eight miles to Victor, with twenty-two miles of curves and dozes of bridges.

Carl and Mark got out to look up at the crest of the ridge. Carl followed her gaze to what appeared to be freshly broken rock, trees and soil.

"Something hit up there," she said passing the binoculars to Spencer.

"Mind if I ask how you knew to look up there?" He asked scanning the ridge. "Yup, I can see it now. So where is it then?"

Joyce chuckled. "Easy. If it entered the canyon at less than five hundred feet without allowing for the narrow confines of the walls and continued in a downward angle – it would be reasonable to suppose this section here would be the first place it would hit

– or miss. See?"

Carl looked back at Mark exchanging questioning looks with him. He handed the binoculars back to Mark. "Check it out up to the right of the portal."

Scanning the ridge Mark nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, so where would it crash?"

The driver's door closed with a bang. "The road follows along the creek and to the right for another five miles. There might be something back there."

Carl was getting an uneasy feeling about the whole incident. He glanced sideward at Joyce, then asked: "Mind if I ask a personal question, Joyce?"

"Anything but my sex life and personal life."

"No problem. What do you do for a living?"

"I teach modern western philosophy at the University of Southern Colorado."

"Oh." Carl left it at that.

"Why am I surprised?" Mark muttered from the back seat as he stuffed another stick of gum in his mouth. "Damned, my last piece."

Joyce stopped just before the second tunnel. The three got out, the deputy, who was not too happy with the situation, chose to stay in his car. The wolf bound out of the back seat to nose around the area. Carl studied the creek below them that steadily flowed out of the mountains to the north from Cripple Creek, and the rock walls that formed the south end of the canyon. He knew he was not dressed for this expedition. That was one of the disadvantages of a job like this, he never knew what to expect next for an assignment.

"It could be anywhere down there – or even up there," he said pointing to the creek below, then to the series of ridgelines that formed the tops of the canyon walls.

Joyce looked at the two agents. McGuire, she could see was not happy with this job. He was definitely not the out doors type, much less being in an area that was still primitive by twenty-first century standards. Spencer, on the other hand, from the first struck her as the outdoors type that was comfortable in most any setting. His only regret, he was not properly attired for the job, and the area.

The agent walked along the side of the road. Since entering the canyon no vehicles of any kind had gone up or down the road. It had been only twenty minutes since they had entered the canyon, but it could have been longer; time has a way of standing still in Phantom Canyon for those not aware of the timelessness of the area. One could still hear the shrill whistles of the little narrow gauge engines echoing off the canyon walls as the trains climbed the steady killer two point five grades toward the gold mining district of Victor and Cripple Creek.

Drawing in a deep breath of the crisp clean mountain air, Spencer hooked his fingers in his belt and said: "Well, unless there's suddenly a bunch of nosey people

around here, let's call it a day. I'll come back tomorrow to poke around in here."

"Need help?" Joyce quickly volunteered.

Mark shot a quick glance at her. Spencer slowly turned to catch Mark's amused look.

"I can handle it," he said walking back to the Jeep.

"Yeah, besides, I got some pressing work in Denver to wrap up this week," Mark quickly rejoined, hoping it would get him out of coming back south to the Springs - Colorado Springs.

"Oh, not a problem. The university is on semester break right now."

Spencer leaned on the door for a moment. Mark quickly slid back in to the Jeep to avoid any comments with Carl. Joyce whistled to the wolf which resumed its seat in the back with Mark.

"Thank you." Carl got back in and Joyce turned the Jeep around on the narrow shelf, Garcia gratefully followed.

Little was said between the agents on the drive back to Colorado Springs. Spencer was puzzling the torn up ridgelines above the two old railroad tunnels in the canyon. If it had not been for the torn up ridgelines, he would have called the case ten minutes after completing the last interview, determined the whole thing as mass hysteria and left it at that.

"The only corroborating evidence we have, Mark is the ridgelines above the two tunnels," Carl told him.

"But I got a question about this Joyce gal. How did she know where to look?"

"She and that last guy were supposedly the only two who saw that thing, whatever it was, go in to the canyon." Spencer glanced to the right to the open range area that comprised Fort Carson. What caught his attention were a flight of UH60D helicopters and three OH58 aero-scouts on a training mission.

"Which means, there could have been sufficient time for them to do something."

"Like what?" Spencer's mind suddenly went off in another direction at that moment.

"Suppose they had found the thing – the saucer?"

"Suppose it wasn't a saucer?" Carl glanced toward Mark then gestured toward the flight of helicopters. "Suppose it was something like a helicopter on a search mission that crashed?"

Mark glanced toward the helicopters that angled off toward Buttes Army Airfield situated on a on a distant butte. "Then there should have been a downed aircraft report and FAA and the Army shoulda' been down in that canyon, not us!"

"That's right."

A half hour later Spencer and McGuire were seated in the flight operations officer's office at Buttes Army Airfield as Spencer explained the mystery aircraft to Major Bickford.

"Yeah, I heard all about it, Mr. Spencer. And nope, we didn't lose any aircraft, and as far as I know, the Air Force hasn't lost anything. If they did, we're the second ones to get the alert call."

"Private aircraft – fixed wing or otherwise?" Mark quickly asked, hoping this would bring their investigation to an end and let someone else deal with the problem.

The major shook his head. "Not a thing, sir."

Outside in the parking lot, across the airfield from the flight operations building, Spencer watched the aircrews for the section of Blackhawks service the aircraft following the mission. The whirring of the high-tech rotary blades and the turbine engines of the helicopters made Spencer more convinced the aircraft could have been some new designed helicopter – or, vertical take-off landing aircraft.

Mark followed the direction of his gaze. "Now what's on your mind?"

"I have half a mind to bring Joyce and that guy up here to listen to the helicopters."

McGuire shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

Part 4

Spencer returned to his office a short time later. Carolyn handed him a small stack of messages, the first on top was from Burger – "Call Burger" which translated to: "I want some good news for once."

"What was his tone?" he asked, twirling the piece of paper between his fingers as he stepped into his office.

"Serious. I started to give him your cell phone number but he wanted you to call when you returned."

Spencer closed the door and touched the speed dial button for Burger's office on his phone. Less than thirty seconds later: "Burger."

"Mr. Burger, Spencer. McGuire and I finished the first part of our investigation of the – um, sighting outside Canon City."

"So what did you find? Another hoax?"

"That I cannot say at this time, sir. There will be more interviews to conduct."

Spencer bit his lower lip. He often wondered how his predecessor put up with this ordeal. Carl Palmer, Burger was not.

"Then deal with it, Spencer. The media is looking for answers."

"Yes, sir." The line went dead. "Nice. Well, I hope I can get a hold of the Hardin woman and that guy tomorrow."

The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Spencer, a Ms. Hardin holding on line two."

"Well speaking of who… Yes, Ms. – I mean, Joyce."

There was a bit of light laughter as if glass wind chimes were tinkling together in a gentle breeze. "Carl, I thought maybe you'd want to know that I was talking with one of my neighbors who'd left this morning before you got here, and they had seen the light like Earl and I did."

Spencer sat back in his chair. "What did he tell you?"

"Well, from what he recalled, it entered the canyon. Seems it appeared to be too wide and attempted to turn on its side but was unable to successfully clear the canyon walls."

"And?" Spencer probed sitting up straight grabbing for a pen and pad of paper.

"That's when most of us heard what sounded like it crashed."

Looking toward the ceiling, he chanced to ask: "Joyce, I suppose you've heard what a helicopter sounds like, especially the new ones from the Army, right?"

"What type?" she asked. "There a couple you know."

Spencer sat up, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. Woman's amazing, he mused. He said: "A UH60D."

"Certainly. They have them at Fort Carson."

"Correct."

"No, it didn't sound at all like one of those. But it did have the distinct sound of a turbine engine. Oh, I'd say more like the type used for jet aircraft."

Carl rocked back in his chair. For a philosopher, she knew things that most people in her field of academic study don't even think about. "Well, listen, for the record, how about if I come down there and pick up you and this Earl and take you up to Fort Carson's air field, I want you to listen to some air craft engines, just to be sure."

"Well, if you think it'll help."

"Thank you."

Carl Spencer stood in the middle of the Joyce Hardin's cramped living room watching as the paramedics carried her out to the flight for life helicopter that set near the road, it's rotors spinning as the pilot waited for the patient to be loaded on board and the rapid flight east to a hospital in Pueblo.

The mobile home had been ransacked.

Lying in the middle of the floor was Joyce's big wolf, it clutched in its jaw pieces

of black cloth, its muzzle matted with blood. Carl surmised, the big canine had definitely made somebody pay a price for attacking its mistress. The Fremont County police and sheriff's deputies were checking hospitals and clinics in the area for anybody who was or had been treated for a dog or wolf bite. The wolf had some how been stunned following its attack on the person.

A cell phone held close to his left ear, Carl stepped out the back door on to a rickety back deck that could fall in at any time. The only sound he made was: "Hmm, Hum-hum, yeah." Then he said: "That's what I tried to explain to Burger yesterday."

Glancing back in to the house he saw someone enter the living room who hadn't been there earlier when the sheriff's deputies, led by Sergeant Garcia responded to the call. "Hold on, Mark." Spencer quickly stepped back inside. "Sergeant Garcia, who's that?"

The deputy turned as the other person, wearing heavy work gloves cautiously knelt over the stunned wolf. "He's from the humane society."

The other looked up at Spencer puzzled.

"Who the hell gave him permission to get involved here?" Spencer demanded then said into the cell phone: "Hold on, Mark."

"The animal bite someone, we have to determine if…" the humane officer began to protest.

"You aren't determining a damned thing until forensics gets here and gets the blood samples and clothing fragments from the wolf." Spencer told him. "Now get out!"

"I have my orders…" the other started to argue.

Spencer pulled his OFI ID case from the jacket pocket, thrusting the Justice Department badge at the humane officer. "I don't give a damn about your fucking orders! That wolf is all I have right now for evidence to solve this case. As senior federal agent on site here, I have the final say so what gets touched and what doesn't get touched. Now get your ass outta here, or I'll have ya cuffed and stuffed for attempting to obstruct justice. Got it?"

The humane officer straightened up, his face white as a sheet; he backed away from the wolf.

"Sergeant, get him outta here." Spencer walked back out to the kitchen to finish his conversation with McGuire. "I haven't got time to argue with him."

"Hey, it attacked somebody – it could be rabid for all we know!" the other

continued to protest.

Spencer swung a fist at the wall stopping short of hitting it. "Of course it attacked somebody you idiot! It was protecting the woman!"

Until that moment, Garcia was a mere bystander. He gestured toward the door. "Don't worry about it, Mike – this is none of your concern now. There's more involved in here than any of us are prepared to deal with. I suggest you leave before you find yourself with a federal misdemeanor charge."

"Sure. No problem. But I have to have a release signed by somebody… " He said as he collected his animal harness and ties.

Spencer turned sharply, a sharp glare from the agent stopped the other from any further protests. He stuffed the gear back in to the bag and quickly stepped out the door.

The humane officer nearly collided with the county forensics officer as he

hurriedly pushed out through the door. Spencer looked back out from the kitchen.

"Forensics?" Spencer watched the scientist. The other nodded, meeting the agent's stern look as he pointed to the wolf. "Blood samples from the wolf's mouth and the shreds of cloth there around the animal. I'll be at your office as soon as we get this cleaned up here."

"Right." The doctor quickly went to work with a minimum of effort as he took several samples of the blood that was still wet, and collected what pieces of cloth he could identify as from the suspect that was a dark color. Spencer suspected black, but wanted to be certain. "It'll be a couple hours before I have any answers for you, inspector."

Spencer waved to the other as he returned to his conversation with McGuire. He said: "Look, Mark I'll be back up in the Springs sometime late this noon. I'll stop in Pueblo first to check on Joyce and maybe get some kind of statement."

"_Yeah, sure. What do you want me to do in the meantime_?"

"Handle any calls from Burger for me. I won't have time to talk with him."

"Investigator Spencer, what do you want to do with the wolf in the meantime?" the deputy asked as the forensics doctor finished collecting samples, making notes and taking pictures.

Spencer snapped the flip-phone closed. He suddenly realized he had overlooked the small detail of the wolf. But he definitely didn't want the humane society getting their hands on the great canine. "Take it out to my car. What knocked the wolf out? Any ideas?"

"Some kind of a stun devise, stun gun I suppose." The forensics doctor shrugged looking

at marks on the wolf's left side and neck. "Other than that, I haven't any idea."

"Any suggestions on a good vet?" Spencer asked, looking down at the animal he

heaved a sigh. "Terrific. Well, like I said, that's all I have for possible evidence."

"Doc Waldon on North Nineteenth Street," another deputy quickly spoke up.

Spencer slipped the cellular phone back in his pocket as he knelt to help the deputy pick up the big animal. They carefully carried it out to the agent's car and laid it on the back seat.

A short time later the doctor and an assistant had the wolf laid out on the examination table. The vet checked the wolf's heartbeat.

"Weak. Its breathing is labored," he said, an edge of concern to his voice. "Attacked somebody protecting his owner, huh?"

"Yeah. Forensics is doing tests on the blood and cloth," said Spencer as he tried to not appear concerned about the wolf. "Doctor Marriner from county forensics suspects something like a stun-gun."

The veterinarian shook his head. "Whatever the attacker used the wolf is out cold. How long has it been since you first found it this way?"

"About at least an hour and a half," he replied looking at his watch recalling the time when he found the front door of Joyce's house had been forced open. The drive from the Springs to US 50 at seven o'clock in the morning takes roughly forty-five minutes.

The assistant began to clean the wolf, carefully cleaning around the mouth. As the assistant cleaned the wolf, it began to revive.

Spencer left the wolf with Waldon and drove to Pueblo to the hospital where Joyce Hardin had been taken. The nurse in the ER section casually looked at Spencer's

ID then lifted her brown eyes to meet his hard gray ones.

"Miss Hardin was taken up to the third floor Inspector."

Finding the elevator, Spencer got off on the third floor and went through the same ritual with the nurse there.

"Room 324."

Finding the room, Carl carefully entered. "Joyce?"

"Carl?" she said through the swath of gauze around her face.

Carefully approaching the bed he stood for a moment before sitting. He finally spoke: "Yes. I need some answers to this. Okay?"

Joyce nodded her head. "Certainly. What about Ulysses? They used something on him."

"Ulysses is with Doctor Waldon in Canon City. I took him there myself."

"Oh – thank you." Joyce began to cry but she managed to hold back the tears. "I thought maybe – because…"

"A wolf?" Carl took out a note pad. He refrained from relating the incident with the humane society officer. "No."

Joyce began to cry. Carl waited for a time until she was able to stop. He was finally able to ask: "Do you think this has anything to do with the incident yesterday?"

She managed to say: "Maybe."

"Any idea who it was?"

Again, she shook her head. In a near whisper, she said: "No."

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he asked: "What did they – he, look like?"

Joyce managed a faint half smile. "Men in black."

Spencer lifted his eyes to regard her a moment. "Pardon? Did you say 'men in

black'?"

"Yes." Joyce turned her head to meet Carl's questioning look. "I'm sorry, but that's the only way to describe them. There were two, of course."

"And what…?" He hated the question, but it was standard. "What happened?"

"They forced their way in to the house. Ulysses waited until they were inside – as I had trained him, then he attacked one, the other attacked me."

"So only one was attacked by the wolf? The other then, after attacking you attacked the wolf."

"Yes."

"Can you recall anything else?"

"Well one of them said something in a dialect that is hard to place: That I should never have helped the agent – you, with the investigation."

"A foreign dialect?" he softly asked, closing the notebook.

Joyce nodded her head. "Yes. It was nothing I am familiar with."

Spencer looked toward the ceiling a second. He had no suggestions. The "Men In Black" sightings had been popular during the late sixties and seventies. "Is that all, Joyce?"

"You haven't been back up the canyon then, I take it?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he said: "No. I was going to do it today, if we had time."

"Be careful, Carl." Joyce held her hand out to him. "If you do, you'll need a good four-by-four, you know."

"Problem is where do I find one?" he said, starting to stand.

"Use mine. The keys are under the seat."

He nodded his head. Standing, he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

"As McArthur said at Corregidor, 'I shall return.'"

Joyce attempted another smile. She reached up with a bandaged hand to draw him back to her. She kissed him and said: "I'll be here."

A few minutes later Carl stood outside the hospital contemplating his next move. His cell phone chirped for his attention. "Hope its Mark." Answering it, he said: "Spencer."

"_Yeah, Carl, Mark. Burger wants some answers. I've probably put him off about as long as I can._"

"No problem. I got at least one answer, but guaranteed, he won't like what I'm going to tell him."

"_Try me_."

"Men in black."

There was a short silence from McGuire, then he said: "_Say again. I think there was some static on my end._"

Spencer repeated his comment.

"_Naw, no damned way. He's not that damned gullible ya know. He won't buy that and you know it._"

"Okay, well tell him I'm on my way back to Canon City and the forensics lab. Hope the doc has some answers for me." Carl ended the call, then called Carolyn to let her know what the status was. "And if Burger calls, tell him once I touch base with the forensics team in Fremont County I'll definitely call him back."

"_Got it_," she replied. "_When are you going to be back here?_"

"Maybe by five." Clicking the phone off, he crossed the parking lot to his car. As he started to unlock the door, he glanced across the parking lot to a Cadillac with thickly mylared back windows and two men seated in the front: in black suits. "Ah this is getting to be a bit much. Either that, or they're waiting for some rich dude who's in the hospital."

Part 5

Getting in the car, Spencer started the engine pulled out and turned the car around to face the limousine that occupied two parking spaces. Thumbing the telephone directory on his cell phone, he found the number he was looking for.

As the phone on the other end rang, he reminded himself to check with the Fremont sheriff's department to see if Garcia and the other deputies had bothered to interview the other residences along the road. He had been too wrapped up with the wolf and Joyce to give it any thought; Mark was still up in the Denver office pacifying Burger to be of much help.

"_Fifth of the Thirty-second infantry, Master Sergeant Williams speaking, sir_," came a rough gravelly voice.

"Sergeant, Major Spencer here, hey old friend you busy?" Carl quickly asked the other.

"_With you, sir, not that'd make much difference, why_?" came Williams's voice. "_What kind of trouble you got yourself into now_?"

"Can't really talk over a cell phone, but the long and short of it is this, got a witness – a lady to be exact, who is in the hospital here in Pueblo – no thanks to somebody's strong arm tactics. I need to do some more investigating in the area around Fremont County Road sixty-seven and the Phantom Canyon and I need a four-by-four, rappelling gear, and all that stuff."

"_Don't ask for much do you, sir_?" Williams replied. "_Sure. I can get the stuff outta supply. Government, huh_?"

"Of course."

"_Where do ya want to meet_?"

"Fremont County Justice Center off US fifty."

Spencer closed the connection. "Okay, dudes, lets see if you guys are for real or not."

Driving out of the hospital parking lot, Spencer looked back. The limousine had followed. "What are these idiots going to do with that land boat when we go up the canyon?"

A short time later Spencer was standing at a copier in the Fremont County Sheriff's office copying Garcia's report. The deputy had interviewed most of the people along the road, except the guy who lived opposite her. He still refused to have anything to do with the situation.

Gathering up the copies and a good map of the area, he met Sergeant Williams and two of his men from his platoon an hour later in the parking lot. Williams and another sergeant, Sgt Ray Severson had an older four-wheel drive truck, a 1989 GMC Sierra pickup with reinforced super frame and suspension; the other, a 1980 K5 Blazer that looked as if they could climb the back side of a mountain. Specialist Dave Holliday had come along for the ride.

"Okay, sir, what are we looking for this time?" Williams asked after the introductions were made.

Spencer regarded the three men, all tall muscular men with former ranger back ground and combat background from the Middle East. Williams looked Carl over a second, he was still in his suit. "A flying saucer."

The smile froze on Williams's sun deeply tanned features. The other two started to laugh then stopped. "You're not serious – are you, sir? You're serious. A flying saucer. Gimme a break, sir. This ain't the sci-fi channel you know."

"I'm serious. See that Cadillac sitting across the highway there?" Carl looked away as he inclined his head toward the car.

The sergeant looked around but saw the car then turned back to Carl. "Yeah, so what about it?"

"I think, but I have no proof yet, the two in the front may be responsible for putting my number one witness in the hospital."

"The lady," said Williams as they casually walked over to the trucks. He looked at Carl again and said: "You aren't planning on going up there in that fancy suit are you, sir?"

"No I brought a jump suit and boots this time. Let's head down to some place where I can change. I want to see if they do follow. They followed me from Pueblo."

"There's a Conoco station where you can change," Sgt Severson suggested, casually looking back at the limo. "A two thousand three?"

Carl thought about the situation. "Those guys have more patience then I ever had to just sit and wait. I'd want to do something just to get it moving. Conoco station?

Okay, let's go."

Severson led the way back in to Canon City to the Conoco station and

convenience store. Severson filled the gas tank on his GMC pickup truck; Williams went inside to see what there was for snacks and drinks. Carl went in to the rest room with a flight bag to change in to a jump suit and rock-climbing boots.

The four stepped back outside to see if their shadow was parked nearby.

"That them, sir?" Dave Holliday asked indicating the black Cadillac parked across the street from the gas station.

"Yup. I want to see them get that boat on to the highway when we go back east."

Spencer tossed his bags in the back of Williams's truck. He parked his car in a parking lot nearby, climbed in to Williams's truck with the rest of his bags of equipment and the two trucks started back east on US 50 to County Road 67.

Carl was right in his assumption, the Cadillac followed them.

"You know what's amazing about those guys?" Carl said, gesturing back to the Cadillac that was following them.

"What's that, sir?" Ben asked, looking in his side view mirror at the car following behind Severson.

"They haven't gotten out of that car once since I spotted them at the hospital."

"They ain't human," the other said with a course chuckle. "Ooo, bad pun."

Ben turned on to 67 and slowed as they passed Joyce's house. Spencer noticed that the jeep was still setting in the same place it was this morning.

"We'll stop in there on the way out." Carl gestured for Williams to keep driving toward the canyon.

Carl twisted around in the seat to look back to see if the black Cadillac was still following. "Yup. Those clowns don't know when to give it up, do they?"

Ben merely chuckled. "They don't know who they're screwing with, do they?

"They will in a heart beat," Carl assured him as he reached the end of the pavement, the trucks bouncing as they hit the gravel washboard road, approaching the first tunnel.

They drove three miles into the canyon before stopping at the first tunnel. The shadows of the late afternoon filled the canyon. The old tunnel was a black maw in front of them, only a mere speck of grayish light could be seen at the opposite end. Ben stopped, Severson stopped and parked the truck across the road blocking oncoming traffic.

"Up there." Carl pointed to the scar from something having hit the crest of the hill above the south portal.

Williams looked at it through binoculars. "No kidding. Looks like some low flying thrill seeking jet jock clipped it."

"Sarg, them boys in black …" Severson called out.

The click of rifle bolts chambering rounds caught Spencer's attention. He looked back to see the big limousine attempt to negotiate the sharp curve and approach to the tunnel. Severson and Holliday took cover behind the pickup, one rifle lay across the hood, the other across the back sideboard.

"Either they're down right stupid, or they're desperate for something," Williams said as he pulled a .40 caliber semi-automatic from under the driver's seat. Carl grabbed his own .45 semi-automatic from off the seat.

"Both." Spencer took cover at the front of the truck. He had a clear view of the right side of the car as it stopped short of the pickup.

The car stopped. The four waited as the driver and the other stared at them for a moment. From Spencer's viewpoint it appeared to be a standoff. Who would "blink" first was the only question now.

First, the right door opened and a tall muscular man in a black suit got out to stand

beside the door. The back door of the car slowly opened, the large door partially concealed the passenger as he started to get out of the car. The first stood motionless, facing the four. Spencer was finally able to get a good look at one of them. The black tinted sunglasses hid his eyes, his hair was a thick sleek black, combed straight back from his squarest fore head. His facial features were pale as old parchment.

Spencer and the three infantrymen waited with patience as the passenger slowly got out of the back of the limousine. He stood to his full height stepping around from behind the door. Black tinted sunglasses concealed his eyes. His thick hair was snow white, his complexion was as pale as white paper.

"Hey, Major," Williams finally said in a hushed tone from the other side of the truck. "This redefines 'stand-off in the desert', you know."

"No kidding."

The passenger of the two finally spoke: "You keep us from our duty."

"And what's that?" Spencer asked, shifting himself for a better view of the other.

Williams gestured to Spencer he was moving forward to Severson. Carl acknowledged the move.

"We come for our own," he replied in a flat tone.

"Well, let me ask you something then, what was the point of following me to Pueblo and back today?" Spencer asked. He had a feeling what these two were after: the pilot or pilots. They were probably killed in the crash.

The other continued to stare straight ahead. Carl chanced a look over his shoulder at the tunnel. Nothing. There was no way they could get away from these guys without starting some sort of confrontation with them. The only way out was a thirty-something hike west to Victor. They would almost have to abandon the trucks, leave here to block the other's pursuit, if that's what the Men in Black were inclined to do.

"That is not for you to know," he replied in a flat tone. "Your people are not to be involved."

"Well guess what, I guess this wasn't your lucky day after all, `cause you guys just might be on the Colorado Bureau of Investigation's Most Wanted List by now."

"That is not our concern. Your concern is that we get our own back."

"This guy got Jell-O for brains?" Ben said from the other side of the pickup.

"Well, I'll tell you what, fella, you and your buddies are adding up to being my first suspects in this case." Carl leaned around the other direction to ask Ben: "Sergeant,

get the license plate number."

"Got it."

"We shall see." Suddenly, without exchanging any words, both men got back in the car.

"I want to see them turn that crate around on this road," said Holliday as they watched the driver back that car up the road and around the curve.

Carl and Ben stood watching the car reverse up the narrow road, impressed by the maneuver on the narrow road.

Looking around Carl glanced up at the crest of the hill that was now partially hidden by the shadows of the higher peaks to either side.

"That does it," said Carl gesturing to the tunnel. "There's definitely something back there and they want it real bad."

"Still want to go in and get whatever it is?" Sgt. Severson said.

"Darn right."

They drove through the tunnel and onto the next tunnel and the crest of the ridge above the south portal that showed similar scars from something hitting the hilltop. They passed through the tunnel and out the other side. Carl got out to study the area. He could see debris of rocks, trees, and weeds that had been knocked off the ridge littering the road. Ben and the others walked around studying the rocks, a couple stunted trees, and weeds.

"Major Spencer!" Severson called. "Check it out, a chunk of metal."

Spencer walked over to look at the piece of silver hued metal lying in the ditch.

"Now would be a nice time to have a Geiger-counter handy," said Williams taking a closer look at the piece of metal. "Hard to tell what it was supposed to be. Whatever it was, was torn all to hell when it hit the shelf up there."

"Wonder if there's more debris on the other side of the ridge," Holliday suggested.

Holliday stayed with the trucks as Spencer and the others walked along the road looking for anything that appeared to have been torn from the craft's fuselage. Shadows began to fill in along the canyon walls as the sun dipped behind the ridges. A chill wind swept down through the canyon, the trees setting up a moaning sound, a long mournful moan sounded from ahead. The moan sounded as if it were an old train whistle echoing from the canyon walls. The group walked along the road, weapons at the ready, old

combat habits taking over as they looked up along the hills and trees.

"The tunnel ahead," said Williams gesturing with the rifle at the second tunnel that served the old railroad.

Spencer let out a quiet breath of relief. They cautiously approached the tunnel and walked through to the other side. In the fading light they stopped to stare at a long broad scare that had been scored along the opposite side of the canyon, debris from the hill filled the creek at the bottom. Near the crest of the hill they could see another large piece of the metal that had been torn from the craft's fuselage.

"Terrific," Williams muttered. "Now how do we get to it and get it out of here?"

"Air lift?" Severson suggested.

With help from Mark McGuire, Spencer was able to get a helicopter from Fort Carson, from the 43rd Support Group's 168th Aviation Company. An two hours later the piece of metal was flown back to Fort Carson where Spencer would claim it later. The pilot made a quick circuit of the hills around the second tunnel but did not see anything.

Spencer and the others returned to the trucks for the drive back to the Springs, making a stop at Joyce's place first.

"Wonderful," he muttered as the group stood in the middle of Joyce Hardin's

living room. They made a pit stop here after they finished with us."

"Hey, Major, who's the dude across the road there?" Holliday asked, watching out the door in case there were any nosey neighbors wondering why the sudden activity

around Joyce Hardin's place.

Carl looked back. "Fred Klein. Mr. Paranoid himself. Didn't get much out of him except he knew what his rights were and we were supposedly trespassing on his land."

"Gee, sounds like my old man," said the young soldier.

Ben Williams knelt in the middle of the floor scanning the room. He asked: "What'd ya say she does for a living?"

"Teaches Western Philosophy at Southern University of Colorado." Carl knelt to see what Ben may have spotted that the deputies and forensics people may have missed. "She has a pretty good knowledge, at least from what I can figure out, of aircraft. What'd ya see?"

The Sergeant moved toward the television set and pile of newspapers and TV guides that lay scattered about the floor. "You sure she just teaches philosophy, sir?"

Part 6

Carl sat in his office late that night with the copy of the forensics report, the statement clearing the wolf from the veterinarian, copy of Sergeant Garcia's reports, both the first and the second, stapled to that was the DMV report on the limo and owners: a rental company out of Denver: the driver, leaser was nowhere to be found; all were laid out in order across the desk. Last, he had the papers, three pages of information that Sergeant Williams found among the papers and magazines under the television. He had to give Joyce credit that was a cleaver place to hide documents when the most obvious would be in a drawer or some such place.

Those were scattered about the rooms.

Carl had to admit, as Sergeant Williams pointed out later, the papers were obvious, yet not so obvious among the printed matter under the television. It was as if she had used the famous Edgar Allen Poe idea in the "Purloined Letter" hide the document among missives and letters that hung around the hearth – right in front of the noses of the Paris Gendarmes who tore the lady's apartment apart looking for the document. That is until an amateur detective by the name of C. Auguste Dupin stepped in and in ten minutes figures out what may have happened to the letter by process of deduction, points to the letter among several others.

The phone rang cutting across his reading the report that Joyce had hidden.

"Spencer…"

"_Sir, Sergeant Williams…"_

"I thought you guys had called it a night. What's up?"

"_Not yet. Anyway, that piece of fuselage we hauled out of the Canyon; did you take a good look at that?"_

"No. I was leaving that to the experts from FAA. Why?" Something in the Sergeant's tone made him suddenly suspicious. He glanced back at the pages.

"_Don't bother, sir. Take my word for it, it's a piece of junk."_

Spencer sat up abruptly. He suspected what he was about to hear from Williams he would not like; and Burger was definitely one who would not like it either. "Excuse me?"

"_Well, let me put it to you this way, sir, there's better aircraft aluminum on the average C130 than what this has…"_

"You're shittin'…?"

"_And to make this even more ridiculous, it's over laid with fiberglass…"_

Spencer felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice over him. He looked back at a paragraph on the second page that puzzled him. "We are inclined to reconsider … in the event of… with regard to our decision… We have examined the contractor's correspondence files…" The last sentence he read echoed in his mind. "_We have examined_…" Carl hung on to that sentence, but it was no good; it snapped in the middle, and the reports, the evidence, the canyon – and Joyce, all said: "Fraud."

"Where are you calling from, Sergeant?" He asked Williams who was waiting for him to continue talking.

"_Butts Airfield _O_ps center._"

A moment later he was making arrangements with the duty officer at the airfield

for another helicopter the next day and a more thorough search of the canyon area, and a CH 64 medium lift helicopter that would haul the wreckage, out of the canyon once it was found. "The rest of it has to be back there some where," Carl insisted.

It was not quite seven o'clock when he finally got a hold of Mark. Carl Spencer's patience was on the thin edge as he stood with one foot resting on the low windowsill in his office. He had the telephone cord stretched to its limit, the telephone resting dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Carl watched the traffic at the intersection of Pikes Peak Avenue and Cascade a little while longer as he listened to the "elevator music" on the telephone.

"_Great, then find me a lowboy and sixty-ton crane. I'll go bring him proof, if that's what's got him all fired up_."

Carl looked back at the page again. Corley Avionics and Aerospace Controls. The company had come under the scrutiny of the GAO and Air Force Procurement Office and Senate Appropriations Committee. Somebody was in big trouble somewhere. Then he looked back at the papers. He mused for not the first time: "Then where did Joyce get them, and what was she doing with what amounted to an indictment of Corley Avionics for some breach with the Air Force?"

Carl Spencer sat beside Joyce Hardin's bed. The bandages and gauze had been removed the day before. He noticed that she appeared better, her face was healing well; her natural beauty that first caught his attention a few days before when she stepped out the front door of her place on the road to the canyon.

The papers lay on the bed as she stared ahead at the blank wall opposite. They

could talk; the other person who had been in the room when she was first admitted to the hospital in Pueblo had been released.

Carl waited for Joyce to speak.

"You said – of course, the plane was found?"

Carl nodded his head as Joyce shifted her gaze to regard the OFI agent. "But, those pages. What do you have to do with what is obviously a report of some kind?"

Joyce dropped her eyes back to the pages that lay across her legs. "I was in the Air Force at the time at Wright-Patterson, going to school at the time I was on the team that was working on Stealth Designs and crews for the various aircraft. Corley was one of the companies that was doing subcontract work on the air frame design…"

Joyce's answer should have hit Carl with a jolt. But it did not. Rather, it suddenly all made sense. "So how did you happen to have the report – or those pages at your place?"

Joyce pointed to a page. "I wrote the parts that indicted Corley for fraud on the air frame design, cost over runs, mismanagement…"

"And those goons from Corley…?" Carl started to ask her. "They did somebody's heavy work, eh?"

"I was the one who actually, if you will, blew the whistle. Some things were not

adding up and I went to Colonel Kelsey with the information. That started the process of the investigation. The sub-contract rather went to a rival company."

"Is this the first time they've done anything to you?" Carl bit his lip. Women being hurt in situations like this sent his blood pressure to the boiling point.

She shook her head. "Even after I got out, there were threatening and harassing from the Corley people. The company barely escaped Chapter Eleven…"

"And the coincidence of the air craft crashing in the canyon near your place…"

Drawing in a breath, Joyce replied: "Ten thousand to one – It could have just as easily crashed in the middle of down town Cripple Creek. As I recalled, some air craft the test pilots flew who worked for Corley flew this leg from Kansas and back."

"And the company, when the plane was lost and they figured out where it crashed and that you were one of the witnesses used a cheap trick to scare you into silence."

Joyce allowed a thin smile that made her bruised face appear pretty to Carl.

"Scared? No, Carl. Just upset. And – Ulysses?"

"Doing good. You won't be able to coop him up in a kennel after this week."

"Like me. I can't wait to get out of here."

An hour later Carl watched as the wreckage of the experimental air craft was loaded on to one of two Army heavy equipment transport sixty-ton low boys. The CH64 and an OH58C, and two UH60D's set in the field behind Joyce's house. The Fremont County sheriff's deputies had their hands full with spectators, the news media, Air Force, and FAA people getting in the way of the crew loading the fuselage on to the trailer. A corner's van from the Air Force set nearby with the bodies of the pilot and co-pilot.

The road from US 50 to the residences on County Road 67 was lined with police cars, military sedans from NORAD, Peterson Air Force Base, Shriver Air Force Base, Fort Carson; the news media, search and rescue units from Fremont and Pueblo Counties; Spencer finally stopped behind a HUMMVE from 43rd Support Group from Fort Carson.

A few minutes later he found Mark McGuire with Sergeant Garcia talking on his cell phone.

Mark looked up as Carl approached him. He passed Carl the phone stuffing a wade of gum in his mouth with the other: "Your buddy."

"Burger, eh?" He took the phone. "Spencer."

# # #


End file.
